


Equivalence

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [16]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Fights, Financial Issues, M/M, Post-Series, Relationship Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 02:43:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4204986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin and Brian come to blows over certain disparities in their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Equivalence

It starts with a cheque.

An absurdly, stupidly, ludicrously lucrative cheque. The sight of it turns Justin’s stomach and sets him on edge.

He wakes up late on Wednesday morning and finds himself alone. Of course he’s alone - Brian would have left for work hours ago. Justin crawls out of bed and stumbles into the bathroom, still somewhat blind with residual fatigue. He relieves himself and then drags himself into the shower, where he stands soaking under the spray, turning the water up so it’s deliciously hot. As his aching muscles are soothed, he smiles to himself and reflects on the previous night’s activities.

First, there were drinks uptown; gorgeous glassfuls of expensive booze that went down very easy and easily got him and Brian all liquored up. Then, they took the train downtown; they piled on top of each other in one of the seats and whispered and laughed all the way from 86th Street to 14th Street, where they got off and sought out dinner at one of Justin’s favourite pizza places. After that, they spent most of the night bar-hopping and club-hopping, fucking in whatever bathroom stalls and dark corners were available to them, and finally journeying home for one last, mind-blowing marathon in their own bed.

It was an amazing night, one which was somehow exhausting and rejuvenating all at once. Justin is pleased to scrub the grime and smell away, but he won’t forget the night quickly.

And, yet, it disappears from his mind entirely when he steps out of the shower and suddenly notices an envelope stuck to the mirror. It’s wilting slightly from the steam; the edges are damp and the ink is starting to blot and blur. But Brian’s handwriting is still legible: _Don’t know how we forgot you in the end-of-year bonuses, Sunshine - but better late than never. You deserve this._

Justin grabs the slightly soggy envelope and tears it open. He pulls out the cheque contained within and gapes at it.

In thick, black ink, there it is: $10,000.00

Ten. Thousand. Dollars.

Justin has to look again to make sure, but there’s no mistaking it. Kinnetik has paid him a ten grand bonus for his measly two months of temping as the creative director.

_Ten. Thousand. Dollars._

Un-fucking-believable.

*

For most of the day, Justin refuses to acknowledge the cheque. He leaves it at home and goes to his studio, where he attacks a canvas with endless brutal brushstrokes. Once he’s done with it, the surface is scarred with a thick clash of colours that have been thrown across it chaotically. The entire canvas bleeds anger. Not yet satisfied, Justin immediately sets that one aside and starts attacking another canvas. 

It helps work off some of his confused frustration.

Sort of.

At 7pm, he leaves his studio and storms back home. He’s too riled up to cook so he stops in at their favourite local restaurant and picks up take-out for dinner. As he waits for the waiter to bring it out to him, Justin finds he can’t ignore the cheque any longer. It’s all he can think about. He can picture it perfectly, sitting on the dining table, waiting there for him.

As soon as he’s got the food, he continues on home in an increasingly worse mood. A block away from the apartment, he bumps into Brian.

“Hey, you,” Brian says, grinning. He hooks an arm around Justin’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Hey,” Justin mumbles. He lets Brian hold him close as they continue towards the apartment. He hasn’t figured out what to say yet, so he remains carefully quiet as they reach their building and ascend the stairs. Once they’re through the door, he rounds on Brian and says, “I found the cheque.”

“Good.” Brian smiles at him briefly, then sets down his briefcase and shrugs out of his coat and suit jacket. “Don’t go spending it all in one place. Or do. Whatever - it’s up to you.”

“I’m not going to spend it at all.”

Justin watches as Brian turns to face him with a bewildered expression. It amps his frustration ever higher. How the hell is this so hard for Brian to understand? 

Frowning, Brian says, “Uh, excuse me?”

“I’m not going to spend it.” Justin marches over to the dining table and picks the cheque up. It’s a mere slip of paper, but somehow it feels heavy in his hand. He thrusts it out at Brian. “You need to take it back.”

“And why,” Brian demands, his tone edging on anger, “Would I do that? It took us long enough to pay you in the first place-”

“You shouldn’t have paid me at all! I was only there for two months! I only did it as a favour to you.” Justin sighs and jerks the cheque towards Brian again. “I can’t accept this.”

Brian raises his hands in a careless refusal. “You can and you will. You _earned_ that bonus.”

“Explain to me how that’s even possible. It was two months! I was temping! I’m not even qualified!”

“You landed us a major account!” Brian holds up his hand and starts ticking off items furiously. “You oversaw the management of every other campaign we were running. You kept the entire team in tact during the transition, you kept me sane, and in doing so, you kept the Manhattan branch afloat!”

“Still,” Justin protests, “Ten _thousand_ dollars? That’s excessive.”

“It’s not.” Brian shrugs; he’s seemingly unaware what an infuriating gesture that is. As Justin’s blood boils, Brian explains, “I discussed this with Ted. We took into account your contribution to the company and agreed that this was a fitting sum. So there you have it. Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll leave it.” Justin takes a few steps and closes the distance between the two of them. He tucks the cheque into Brian’s pocket. “I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s too much. Now let’s have some dinner.”

He picks up the bag of take-out and heads into the kitchen. As he’s dishing it up, Brian comes storming in, demanding, “Why the hell would you leave it?”

Justin stares at him and asks evenly, “Why the hell would I take it?”

“Because that’s a shitload of money and it’s money you earned,” Brian says slowly, whilst peering at Justin as though he’s insane.

“You’re right. It’s a shitload of money. In fact, it’s an offensively large sum for you to be paying me. I get what you’re trying to do-”

“Oh, it’s offensive, is it?” The anger in Brian’s voice is intensifying rapidly. “Christ, you can be such a precious little princess!”

“Fuck you!” Justin cringes inwardly as soon as he says it. All day, he promised himself that he’d discuss this calmly with Brian, and yet here they are - yelling at each other. The slight pang of guilt isn’t enough to stop him, though. “It’s not my fault that you’re trying to spoil me!”

“Fuck _you,”_ Brian spits back. “This isn’t me ‘spoiling’ you. This is my company electing to reward you for the substantial contribution you made. It isn’t even my money - it’s Kinnetik’s!”

Exasperated, Justin cries, “It doesn’t matter! None of that matters! I don’t want your ludicrously extravagant ‘reward’!”

“Really? You don’t?” Brian snatches the cheque out of his pocket and slams it down on the countertop, in amidst the clustered tubs of take-out. “Let’s see, ten grand - what could that buy Sunshine?”

“Don’t patronise me,” Justin warns through clenched teeth.

Brian ignores him. “That’s pocket change for me and a fractional amount for Kinnetik, but it’s definitely a hefty sum for someone in your position. It could go towards your art supplies for the next few months; you could pay your rent in advance for a while; you could take a few of those classes you’ve been looking at; you could save it; you could spend it… the list goes on!”

Justin ignores each and every one of those suggestions and hones in on four very important words that he’s just heard. He flattens his palms on the countertop and leans in towards Brian. “Let’s talk about the position that I’m in. Better yet, let’s compare it to yours! _You_ have achieved your career goals. You’re an incredibly affluent C-E-fucking-O! I, on the other hand, am still starting out. I’m finding my footing. Do you have any idea how shitty it makes me feel sometimes, when I realise how radically displaced we are in terms of our success and finances?”

He doesn’t miss the hint of hurt in Brian’s gaze. Justin feels a stab of concern, but that goddamned cheque is still sitting in between them. A slip of paper though it may be, it’s looming like a huge obstacle.

As Justin eyes that infuriating barrier, he makes a decision: He’s not done yet. 

He takes a moment to gather his thoughts, then pushes forward and says, “I’m proud of you. I’m so fucking proud of you, Brian. I can’t even begin to express how much I admire you. What’s really incredible is that your achievements are yours. I want that too! I don’t want you babying me and spoiling me.”

Then, bizarrely, they both speak at once:

“You’re not my father!”

“I’m not your father!”

They stare at each other in confused silence. After a moment, Brian frowns and queries, “How is it that we just said exactly the same thing when I’m pretty goddamned sure we don’t _mean_ the same thing?”

With a sigh, Justin clarifies, “I mean that I don’t want you shoving a silver spoon in my mouth like my father would have.”

Brian scoffs. “Is that how you see things?”

Justin sidesteps that landmine and prompts, “What did you mean?”

“That’s not who I am. I’m not your father. You’re right - I shouldn’t be shoving a silver spoon in your mouth.” Brian grimaces and sighs a little. “I am your partner, though - I thought that meant something to you.”

“It means everything to me,” Justin says instantly. “I love you.”

He’s pained when this admission is met with frosty silence. Brian simply stares at him and continues to do so for an agonisingly long time. Then, he says, “So what do you expect me to do?”

“I want to achieve my goals on my own. I don’t need extravagant sums of pocket money from you to do that.”

“Right,” Brian laughs, shaking his head in disbelief, “The whole ‘starving artist’ bit. And here I thought you ditched that when you ditched Ian.”

The abrupt mention of Ethan stings. Justin recoils and retorts, “This is not some _‘bit’._ I’m not playing the starving artist.”

“You would be if it weren’t for me,” Brian mutters.

“Great,” Justin snaps, “Please, Brian, go ahead and shove my face in everything I _thought_ you did for me - for us! - out of love and generosity. Seriously, go on. What are you going to point out first? That you’re still paying for my studio? That you bought us an apartment? That because of you, I quit my job and I’m now essentially a kept man?”

He almost regrets that last part, but it’s too late to take it back. Anyway, Brian is rearing up to fight back.  

With a chilling glare, Brian asserts, “Everything I’ve done for you - for _us -_ is because I fucking love you. I _love you._ So do me a favour and stop being so goddamned precious for a second. I hated when you worked at that bar. It was a festering shithole full of degenerates, and every time you set foot in that place I was fucking terrified. So was your mother. So were Daphne and Molly. So yeah, I paid for your studio, so you didn’t have to pull life-threatening, soul-crushing shifts at that place.”

“Stop being so fucking dramatic,” Justin mutters.

“Let me talk,” Brian barks, his eyes flashing. “I bought us this place because I wanted to start a life here with you and I couldn’t see it happening in that ramshackle thimble of an apartment that you used to rent. I wanted a place that we could call our own - I _thought_ you wanted that, too. And lastly, but certainly not least, whenever I’ve offered my support and/or you’ve allowed me to provide it, it’s not me trying to coddle you. It’s support, simple as that. I’m your partner, I figured that was part and parcel of what we have together. I’m _so_ fucking sorry that you seem to hate it so much. I’m _incredibly_ remorseful that I’ve offended your delicate sensibilities.”

His every word is slathered in bitter, resentful sarcasm. Justin can’t hide his hurt - he can feel it written all over his features, but Brian clearly doesn’t care. Venomously, he continues, “I mean, how fucking awful of me! Really, Justin, I’m so sorry that I’ve tried to keep you from getting verbally abused and stiffed on tips every goddamned day by lowlife barflies. God forbid you have time to, oh, I don’t know - work on your art, which is what you came here for to begin with! And I can’t believe the gall of me, moving us into a nicer neighbourhood and a gorgeous home that we both love. How fucking horrible of me!”

“Cut it out,” Justin warns quietly, as his gaze drops downwards to where his hands are clutching the edge of the countertop.

“I’m just trying to apologise,” Brian snarks. “Let me finish, won’t you? I’m sorry for believing in you and wanting to back your incredibly promising career. I’m sorry that Ted and I wholeheartedly agreed that you deserved additional renumeration for a job _very_ well done. I’m sorry for providing you with the kind of financial security that allows us to actually enjoy our life here, because God knows you’d probably rather be sitting home alone in that shithole of an apartment eating expired ramen every other night!”

Somehow, even through the thick haze of Brian’s angry rant, Justin finds a moment of clarity. It’s also steeped in outrage. He snaps his head up, glares at Brian, and demands, “Were you talking about me with Daphne again?! Because I didn’t tell _you_ about having to stay home and eat ramen.”

After laughing bitterly, Brian snaps, “No, you sure as fuck didn’t tell me. Daphne, however, isn’t a deceitful asshole - she told me plenty!”

“This is such bullshit,” Justin yells. “I’m not going to take this from you. I’m not going to take this from her!”

He grabs the cheque and tears it up. As the shreds scatter over the countertop, Justin meets Brian’s livid gaze and snarls, “You and Daphne are supposed to be my people. You’re _not_ supposed to assume the role of my parents! And I may have been happy to work with you for a couple of months as a favour, but I was uncomfortable enough with the ridiculous salary you paid me. A ten thousand dollar bonus? Come the fuck on, Brian. That’s ludicrous.”

“Fuck you,” Brian snaps.

“Fuck _you,”_ Justin snaps back. “Why don’t you go cry to Daphne about it?”

He grabs a few tubfuls of takeout and stows them under his arm, then wrenches the fridge open and yanks out a beer. Then, after tossing a filthy look at Brian, Justin storms out of the kitchen and seeks refuge in the guest bedroom.

The last thing he hears before he slams the door shut with all his might is Brian shouting, “If you think I’m going to waste a goddamned second _crying_ about this, then you’re fucking delusional!”

Justin tosses himself down on the bed and stares at the tubs of take-out. He pops one open and takes a bite of the canneloni. It’s delicious at first, but after a few measly bites it proves desperately unsatisfying. Justin stares at the door, wondering if Brian will come storming through to continue their fight, but the door remains shut. Silence creeps through the apartment. With a sinking sense of regret, Justin twists the cap off his beer and takes a long swig, whilst avidly wishing it were something stronger.

*

The next morning, after a mostly sleepless night, Justin emerges from the guest bedroom and finds Brian standing on the other side. He’s dressed and has a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“Ted needs me in Pittsburgh,” Brian says quietly. Though his voice is low, his entire demeanour is afflicted with tension. It makes it seem as though there is endless space forced between them, even though they’re standing mere inches apart.

Justin is stunned. “You’re going now?”

“I have to. I’ll see you on Saturday.”

As Brian turns and makes his way towards the door, Justin panics. He runs after Brian and jumps in between him and the front door. “Wait.”

With a flash of irritation, Brian snaps, “I have to go. I still have to drop by the office before I go to the airport.”

“I don’t want you leaving like this,” Justin protests. “Not if you’re going to be getting on a plane and flying home.”

Brian narrows his eyes at Justin and snarks, “I thought _this_ was home.”

Justin sighs. “You know what I mean. Can we just… I don’t know… call a truce for the next thirty seconds? Please?”

“A truce?”

“A truce.” Justin touches Brian’s cheek gently and says softly, “I hope you have a good time in Pittsburgh.”

Brian stares at Justin hesitantly, then softens and says, “I’ll try.”

Justin forces a smile and kisses Brian gently. “Let me know when you get there.”

“Sure.” Brian leans in and pecks Justin’s forehead, then steps past him to get to the door. As he opens it, he mutters, “Do us both a favour - reconsider the bonus, will you?”

“I shredded the cheque,” Justin reminds him, somewhat tersely.

Brian shrugs. As he leaves the apartment, he calls over his shoulder, “Cynthia can help with that.”

Justin doesn’t want to consider that. He calls out a weak goodbye, but apparently the truce is up. There’s no response from Brian - only fading footsteps descending the stairs, each of them like a knife to Justin’s guilt-riddled heart.

*

“Daph,” Justin protests incredulously, “You’re supposed to be _my_ best friend!”

“Oh my god,” Daphne laments with a groan. “Justin, I love you, but you sound like a kindergartner.”

“Really? A kindergartner?” Justin huffs as he paces back and forth along the empty hallway, past the long row of sketches that are framed and hanging proudly on their wall. His phone is starting to feel hot against his cheek; that’s how long he’s been battling this out with Daphne, the filthy double-crossing traitor. “I was thinking I sound like _you –_ in first grade, third grade, all through middle school, and for 90% of my relationship with Ethan! If I had a dollar for every time you’ve said those words to _me,_ I’d be able to pay Brian a ten grand bonus!”

“Maybe you should,” Daphne says. “You know, as an apology.”

“See? This is what I’m talking about! You’re always taking his side!”

“There shouldn’t be sides in a relationship like yours! I’m not siding with either one of you - I’m siding with _both_ of you.”

“Bullshit! You’re so on Brian’s side!”

“Only because you’re acting like a total brat,” Daphne says assertively. “Brian told me all about what you did for him when you were working at Kinnetik. He couldn’t stop raving about it. You earned that bonus! You should accept it! Goddamnit, Justin - some people would kill to be rewarded at work like that.”

“But that’s the thing,” Justin counters. “I’m not working for him anymore. I don’t like feeling like his employee. Worse, I don’t like feeling like his charity case!”

“Do you seriously think Brian sees you as a charity case?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure you two will have a great conversation about it. God knows how much you two love gossiping about me.” Justin grinds his teeth together momentarily, then accuses, “You told him about the ramen. I asked you to keep that between the two of us!”

“He was worried about you! We both were! You were getting all skinny and it was freaking us out.”

“That was so fucking embarrassing,” Justin sulks, whilst recalling those dismal interludes during his time alone in New York; there were several painful patches where he couldn’t scrape enough money together for groceries, so he relied on free meals from the bar or old packets of ramen that were all he had left in his apartment.

“What’s embarrassing is that you two assholes can’t figure this shit out.” Daphne sighs wearily. “How long has it been? Six - almost _seven -_ years? I mean, only a few months ago, you were telling me how much better everything was. How you were talking about this, that, and everything in between. You were so happy about that - how is it that you two have regressed to this non-communicative nonsense again?”

“We’re not _non_ -communicative!” Justin pauses to consider, then supplies weakly, “We just did a shitty job of it this time around.”

After heaving another _very_ weary sigh, Daphne says, “Let me guess - one or both of you told the other to ‘fuck off’.”

Reluctantly, and with no small amount of guilt, Justin admits, “Kinda.”

“You slept in separate bedrooms like a couple of morons.”

“‘Morons’ is a bit harsh,” Justin mutters. “But yeah. I stayed in the guest bedroom.”

“You didn’t actually discuss how you’ll move forward as a couple who are presently experiencing significant financial disparity; you just yelled at each other and made each other feel like shit.”

“Maybe.”

“Try definitely.”

Justin sighs. She’s right. Of course she’s right. Daphne is _always_ right.

“I hate you,” he complains, though he can’t help but smile a little when Daphne laughs out loud.

“No, you don’t,” she says, immensely confident. “You love me. And I love you. You _are_ my best friend, Justin, but Brian is important to me too. What should be most important of all is your relationship. I don’t want to see you two assholes break up. You belong together.” 

“I know that.” Justin veers off course from the hallway and goes to flop down in their bed. He lies amongst the rumpled sheets and thinks of Brian, who’s probably due to arrive in Pittsburgh at any moment. There’s a tiny part of Justin that’s worried he’ll never come back. As anxiety twists in his chest and corkscrews down into the pit of his stomach, he asks Daphne desperately, “What do I do?”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“You won’t accuse me of siding with Brian?”

“Maybe.”

_“Justin.”_

“Probably not?”

_“Justin!”_

“Okay, fine, I won’t!”

“Okay,” Daphne resolves. “Here’s what I think you should do.”

*

After they say goodbye and hang up, Justin sits up in bed and pulls Brian’s pillow to his chest. He mulls over Daphne’s advice for a while and tries to reconcile her advice with his own conflicted feelings. It doesn’t take too long. As soon as he’s cleared his head and devised a plan of action, Justin grabs his phone and texts Brian.

_When are you due back? x_

Almost instantly, a reply comes through:

**_I was just about to text you – landed five mins ago. Back on Saturday @ 10am._ **

Then, seconds later:

**_I love you. You get that, right?_ **

Justin smiles and hastens to reply.

_I get it. I love you too. See you on Sat xx_

As soon as he’s pressed send, he jumps out of bed and springs into action. It’s almost Thursday evening, so he has little more than a day left to sort everything out before Brian’s return. Since he’s still reeling from their fight, Justin isn’t feeling very optimistic. But Daphne’s advice and Brian’s texts have bolstered him a little; he throws himself into it, resolving whole-heartedly to make things right.

*

At 10am sharp on Saturday morning, Justin finds himself waiting in the arrivals lounge at JFK. As passengers pour through in streams, he keeps an eye out for Brian. Though they’ve only spent a couple of days apart, Justin is craving Brian’s presence. Nothing more has been said since their brief exchange via text on Thursday afternoon; it seems forever since then. In the time that’s passed, Justin has come up with so much more that he wants to say.

When Justin sees Brian walking towards him, his heart flips inside his chest. He greets Brian with a huge grin and is thrilled when Brian pulls him in for a hug.

“Hey, you,” Justin says, kissing Brian’s cheek.

“Hey,” Brian says, squeezing Justin a little. “Miss me?”

“Of course I did.” Justin kisses Brian’s cheek again and hugs him extra tight. “Come on, the driver’s waiting.”

Almost reflexively, Brian reaches for his wallet. Justin bats his hand away. “I’ve got this.”

Brian arches an eyebrow at him. “You do?”

“Sure I do. I deposited the cheque.”

“I thought you shredded the cheque.”

“You told me that Cynthia could help with that,” Justin responds innocently. “So I went to see her. She helped.”

“I see,” Brian says slowly.

Justin merely links their arms together and leads Brian towards the car.

As soon as they’re on the road, Justin decides to offer a full explanation. He turns towards Brian and takes his hand gently. “I made a decision the other day. You see – well, actually, you may already know this, since you probably visited your number one confidante while you were in the Pitts, but anyway – Daphne recommended that I accept the money. Her rationale was the same as yours: I did the work, I did it well, I deserve to be duly rewarded.”

“And now that Daphne has explained it…” Brian pauses, then adds begrudgingly, “Perhaps better than I did the other night… do you see where we’re coming from?”

Before Justin can reply, Brian adds firmly, “I’m not trying to indulge you or shove a silver spoon in your mouth. I have no interest in babying you or spoiling you. I paid bonuses to _all_ of my staff. I paid particularly generous ones to those whose performances were of a high standard. You fell into that category; it was decided that you deserved a bonus. That’s it. That’s all it was.”

“I get that.” Justin smiles sheepishly and admits, “Cynthia smacked some sense into me, too.”

“Good.” Brian smirks. “That’s what she’s there for.”

“Speaking of which…” Justin knots his fingers with Brian’s and clasps their hands tightly together. “I’m here because I love you and I want to be with you. I want us to be equals. Sometimes it hits me that we’re not – at least, not in a financial sense.”

He ignores Brian’s attempt at protesting this point and continues doggedly, “You covered my tuition, which I still have yet to pay back to you. You’ve given me a home – several, in fact – and you’ve frequently kept me fed and clothed. Since I moved here, some of the costs have been crippling, and so you’ve helped to cover those, too. I appreciate it. I can’t tell you how much it means to me. But sometimes it’s hard… like _really_ hard, seeing you manage that so easily when it’s often been a huge struggle for me. Like you said - ten grand is nothing to you, but to me, it’s everything and then some.”

“So take it,” Brian urges. “You earned it, you need it – _take it.”_

“I am taking it. I already have.” Justin smiles at Brian and announces happily, “I’ve also given some thought to what I should do with it. The thing is, I want to try and manage my career as independently as I possibly can. I don’t deny that you’ve helped me considerably and I’m truly grateful for that. I’m certainly not trying to pull the whole ‘starving artist’ act. But I see how accomplished you are and I want that for myself. So I’m not going to put the money towards supplies or anything like that. I want to put it towards us – starting with this.”

He pulls away from Brian momentarily and reaches under the seat. As Justin grabs hold of the box, he draws it out and hands it to Brian. “This is for you.”

Brian touches the glossy black box tentatively. He flashes a curious smile at Justin, then lifts the lid up and peels back the crisp layers of tissue paper. “Holy shit.”

“It’ll look crazy hot on you,” Justin enthuses, grinning as Brian touches the supple black leather of his new jacket. “You can wear it tomorrow night. I’m taking you out for a night on the town.”

“Is that right?” Brian loops an arm around Justin and nuzzles his cheek tenderly.

“That’s right. That’s where I think this money should go – towards us enjoying our life together. And towards me appreciating you.” Justin touches the gorgeous leather jacket pointedly. “I know the other night it must have seemed like I don’t, but I do. I love you.”

“And I love,” Brian pauses and grins evilly, “This jacket. You’ve chosen well, Sunshine.”

“Asshole,” Justin gripes, laughing.

With a smirk, Brian asks, “So what are we doing tonight?”

“Uh, having copious amounts of make-up sex.” Justin gives Brian an incredulous look - he’s staggered that Brian didn’t figure that out on his own. “Obviously.”

Brian grins from ear-to-ear and echoes, “Obviously.” 

Justin grins back and leans in and tries to kiss Brian’s cheek, but Brian tilts his head and captures Justin’s mouth with his. It’s the kind of kiss that Justin has been thirsting for ever since their knockout fight; he sinks into it, grabbing at Brian’s shirt to hold him close. It’s not wholly satisfying, but it’s a good start.

As their driver continues towards the city, Brian cups Justin’s face in his hands and says, “I want you to have your independence. If I’m being an overbearing asshole-”

“You weren’t,” Justin interjects quickly.

“If I am,” Brian insists, “Call me out on it. But I thought we had an agreement – we’re partners, we’re sharing a life together, and I consider what’s mine to be yours. That’s how I want things to be. Not to coddle you or anything… just to support you, like I know you’d support me if things were reversed.”

“So we’re equal,” Justin says. “That’s what I want. Maybe it’s still a way away in some regards-”

“It won’t always be,” Brian resolves. “You’re going places, Sunshine. It’s just a matter of time.”

Justin smiles and rests his head on Brian’s shoulder. As Brian kisses the top of his head, Justin murmurs, “Thank you.”

“Any time.” 

Justin’s smile grows as he listens to Brian sigh contentedly. He closes his eyes for a while and enjoys being close to his partner once more – in _every_ sense. As he’ll surely boast to Daphne shortly, they’ve ditched the non-communicative nonsense once again. It feels like a weight has been lifted, now that they’re talking openly and honestly again - this time, without any shouting or screaming.

When Justin opens his eyes again, he realises that they’re back in the city. He keeps his head on Brian’s shoulder and watches New York flit by as the driver speeds them towards their place. 

“I’m glad we’re home,” Justin murmurs. He tilts his head slightly and kisses Brian’s neck. He holds his lips there for a moment; he enjoys the warmth of Brian’s skin and the soft thrum of his pulse. Both are sensations that he’s missed during Brian’s absence so Justin is eager to get re-acquainted.

There’s that contented sigh from Brian again – it’s such a sweet sound, one that comforts Justin and fills him with hope. In a tone that’s equally happy, Brian says, “My thoughts exactly.”

**The End**


End file.
